The Dark Flower eBook

In the Casino gardens she walked more slowly, savouring
the aromatic trees, and stopping to bend and look
at almost every flower; then, on the seat, where she
had sat with him yesterday, she rested. A few
paces away were the steps that led to the railway-station,
trodden upwards eagerly by so many, day after day,
night after night, and lightly or sorrowfully descended.
Above her, two pines, a pepper-tree, and a palm mingled
their shade—­so fantastic the jumbling of
trees and souls in this strange place! She furled
her sunshade and leaned back. Her gaze, free
and friendly, passed from bough to bough. Against
the bright sky, unbesieged as yet by heat or dust,
they had a spiritual look, lying sharp and flat along
the air. She plucked a cluster of pinkish berries
from the pepper-tree, crushing and rubbing them between
her hands to get their fragrance. All these
beautiful and sweet things seemed to be a part of
her joy at being loved, part of this sudden summer
in her heart. The sky, the flowers, that jewel
of green-blue sea, the bright acacias, were nothing
in the world but love.

And those few who passed, and saw her sitting there
under the pepper-tree, wondered no doubt at the stillness
of this dame bien mise, who had risen so early.

V

In the small hours, which so many wish were smaller,
the Colonel had awakened, with the affair of the handkerchief
swelling visibly. His niece’s husband was
not a man that he had much liking for—­a
taciturn fellow, with possibly a bit of the brute in
him, a man who rather rode people down; but, since
Dolly and he were in charge of Olive, the notion that
young Lennan was falling in love with her under their
very noses was alarming to one naturally punctilious.
It was not until he fell asleep again, and woke in
full morning light, that the remedy occurred to him.
She must be taken out of herself! Dolly and
he had been slack; too interested in this queer place,
this queer lot of people! They had neglected
her, left her to. . . Boys and girls!—­One
ought always to remember. But it was not too
late. She was old Lindsay’s daughter; would
not forget herself. Poor old Lindsay—­fine
fellow; bit too much, perhaps, of the—­Huguenot
in him! Queer, those throw-backs! Had noticed
in horses, time and again—­white hairs about
the tail, carriage of the head—­skip generations
and then pop out. And Olive had something of
his look—­the same ivory skin, same colour
of eyes and hair! Only she was not severe, like
her father, not exactly! And once more there
shot through the Colonel a vague dread, as of a trusteeship
neglected. It disappeared, however, in his bath.